2017:
It had been an informative, engrossing, if not intriguing, event. Now the audience were getting restless, pining for their buffet lunch, a clip-on glass of mineral water, a chat with like-minded delegates. The audience: scientists, students, industry experts, sci-fi fans with the odd writer thrown in, had been treated to a thorough introduction to AI, its benefits, and its potential impact on humanity. They were looking forward to the afternoon talks, more contentious, juicier sessions:
The legal and ethical aspects of AI:
Is AI fit to stand trial?
Could AI predict crime?
Should AI have rights, like humans?
Can an AI forgive?
Can a robot be raped?
The moral implications of driverless cars, reality robots, sexbots, and lethal autonomous weapons.
Can AI feel?
How should AI be perceived, and treated, by humans?
AI come from a slavery origin.
Are AI little more than animated tools, our property?
What gender should they be?
Does transhumanism present an opportunity for AI to enhance the human body – and commercialize us?
Could AI result in our dehumanisation, annihilation anxiety, ‘doom and gloom,’ the end of humankind, a frightened society?
With so much to look forward to after lunch, the general consensus among delegates over coffee and biscuits was the last session of that morning constituted the least interesting, most boring, presentation of all.
The little scientist mounted the rostrum to face the audience. There were several coughs, a sneeze, someone’s mobile went off. She pressed a hidden button and began. A heading appeared on the screen behind her:
The Animation of Robotic-Type Responses
There followed a lengthy, complicated, wordy, and technically challenging PowerPoint presentation on how robots react to external stimuli, the state of consciousness, associative memory, even perception of robots. The audience began to tire of robotic-type responses. Some delegates slumped in their seats. Others became agitated shifting uncomfortably on their curved wooden chairs. Suddenly, the old woman produced what looked like little more than a box on wheels, a green cube, and a blue cube. She smiled at them all, a wicked witch smile,
‘Here’s one I made earlier!’
The audience burst out laughing.
‘I made this robot out of some transistor radio components, four toy wheels, and a wooden box. It has two sensors: one at the front, one at the back. And a speaker. Do you like it?’
Several delegates clearly approved, so she continued, ‘Would you like to see it move?’
The elderly scientist had the audience’s undivided attention. The students sat bolt upright. Filled with unexpected enthusiasm, everyone nodded their heads at her, at it.
‘The question,’ she said, mercurially, ‘is ‘can a robot feel pain’? Please watch and listen.’
She placed the makeshift robot on the table in front of her with the green cube a few feet away. To the astonishment of the audience, she stroked its back, and said, ‘Good!’
The box-on-wheels inched forward, and replied, ‘Mmmn!’
Several delegates cheered. Still more craned their necks for a better view. The scientist replaced the green cube with a blue one, smacked the robot’s back hard, then said, ‘Bad!’
The box-on-wheels backed away,
‘Hurts!’ it exclaimed, ‘Hurts!’
The audience gasped audibly as the old girl smacked the robot’s bottom repeatedly,
‘Bad!’ she repeated, ‘Bad!’
The robot backed further and further away from the blue cube until it fell off the table.
‘The question is,’ its creator posed, ‘Did my robot feel pain and pleasure? Or was it all an animated robotic response to external stimuli? Thank you. I wish you all a good lunch.’
The audience rose, applauding the veteran as she left the podium, her box-of-wheels left lying in pieces on the floor. One of the event organisers stood at the front and asked them,
‘How many of you felt sorry for the robot?’
Eighty percent of the audience raised their hands…
2075:
Since Claire’s birth in an AI laboratory in Silicon Valley, scientists had fiercely debated the question:
Does Caring Loving AI Really Exist?
Throughout Celeste’s twenty-five-year journey to the new-born, Claire had tended to the humans’ every need: their hibernation, nourishment, health, and survival. Meticulously, she managed every aspect of the mission from launch, flight, and berth of the mothership to Carmen’s controlled descent and establishment of living conditions for Tiernan and Rose. There was no doubt that through her medicated tendrils, drips, tubes, pumps, and feeds, Claire had become physically attached to her human companions. But could she have become emotionally attached? Questions remained unanswered in her perplexed, complex mind:
Should I have rights, like my humans?
How should I be perceived, treated, and loved by them?
Can I feel emotions?
Can I feel pleasure and pain?
and
Can I ever forgive them for how they make me feel?
